


Heaven

by aishjinjaa



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Angst, Attempt at Humor, Cliche, Failed attempt at humor, Fluff, Ghost Guanheng, M/M, Major Character Death because Guanheng is a fucking ghost, Mentions of other WayV members, Please Forgive me, Psychic Xiaojun, its not that goo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 21:45:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18290855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aishjinjaa/pseuds/aishjinjaa
Summary: Psychic Xiaojun has a 100% success rate until he met a ghost who wouldn't just leave him alone.





	Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> "tHiS iS OnLy gOnNa bE 10k" but it turned out to be 14k sksks i can't help it i'm a wordy bitch. i just wanted to contribute to the tag it sucks please don't kill me i'll do better next time

Xiaojun felt a light, cold breeze over his shoulder as soon as he asked, prompting him to straighten his back and observe his surroundings more. He felt a sharp tingling at the back of his head. “If you’re here, please send me another message through my left shoulder,” he announced to the room, ignoring the terrified looks he received from the old couple in front of him. He instantly felt another cold touch to his left shoulder—this time heavier and more intentional.

“Is your name Huang Xuxi?” he called out again, trying to gauge where the strongest aura was in the house through taking small steps forward and backward, feeling where the spirit can manifest themselves strongest. “Touch to the left for yes, touch to the right for no,” another pressure on his left shoulder startled him a little, but he successfully nodded to the couple while keeping his face neutral. “Was this your house?”

It went on like that for a while: questions thrown back and forth, left shoulder for yes, right shoulder for no. The client for that day wasn’t as difficult to handle than most of his usual clients are. Docile, confused, and weak, Huang Xuxi was one of those spirits who could barely scare anyone with how weak he was. There were varying levels of strength when it came to ghosts. The weakest ones were Xiaojun’s favorite: they scared him less because none of them could show themselves, and could only communicate with Xiaojun through touches, breezes, and other subtler signals. They usually were simply lost souls, not knowing exactly where to go. But it wasn’t completely difficult, really. They can easily move on as long as they get to fix whatever is holding them back, and usually, the living people who visit him already have the answer for the uneasiness of the spirit. This time, it was disappointment and pride. Huang Xuxi fell from the balcony of his 8th-floor apartment, drunken and alone, he had recently failed the bar exams and was devastated that his parents were disappointed in him. His brother has always been the better one, he had a chance to prove his worth through finishing law school, but once again, he failed.

Many speculated that it was suicide, and his parents feared that it was, too. Through him, they managed to establish that the death was accidental and that he had too much to drink, went to the balcony for some fresh air, tripped on nothing, before falling to his death. His parents also asked him to relay their message that they weren’t disappointed and that they loved him very much. Right after the exchange, the aura around the apartment lightened as the spirit of a boy named Xuxi finally eased onto the beyond. He was met with tears, and for a while, he left the old couple alone.

When asked about his dreams, he would answer many things: he wanted to sing, he wanted to dance, and he wanted to perform. Being a ghost-buster slash psychic never crossed his mind. However, after a devastating car accident two years ago, aside from losing a chunk of his memory, he also gained a weird ability to communicate with ghosts.

Because of the Chinese culture, many people believed in, and tried to communicate with ghosts so when he decided to become a psychic, business has always been booming. He constantly had 4 to 7 or sometimes even 10 clients per day. But it was satisfying. Knowing that families and other people can sleep better thinking that their loved ones have peacefully passed was enough for him. Although he did need some cash so he charged them. His charges went onto hourly rates since some ghosts are definitely harder to manage compared to others.

When he was leaving, he spotted a figure at the end of the hall, walking forward and backward, repeatedly, as if they were nervous. Xiaojun didn’t need a closer look to know that it was a ghost. The boy wasn’t completely…solid, per se. But he also knew that this definitely was a strong ghost, not only managing to manifest in front of him but also managing to look almost as if he’s alive. Judging by his clothes, the ghost could have died recently, which would explain why he’s so clear. Xiaojun didn’t like to deal with strong ghosts, they could completely show themselves, talk to him, and sometimes even move things around, and he hated that a lot. If he wasn’t paid to deal with them, he didn’t do it.

He tried to walk past, pretending not to notice the boy in the plain white, bloodied t-shirt. Holy fuck, that was a lot of blood. The boy’s face was clean and unmarred, however, but if you moved your eyes lower, his neck and his clothes were decorated with dark, red, blood. If anything, it only made him want to ignore the ghost more. He definitely came with some serious baggage. He put his earphones on and pretended to listen to music and looked down at his phone as he neared the ghost who suddenly straightened up as if he was waiting for him.

“Hi!” The bloodied boy smiled, which was weird for someone who was dead and had that much blood around him. “I heard from the neighbors that you were a psychic and ghostbuster, can you help me out? I’m lost,” his voice was deep, but soft and friendly as if he was just asking Xiaojun to point him to the nearest coffee shop. He hummed to himself as he turned the corner to the elevators, the ghost still tailing after him. “Please don’t ignore me,” the frown in his voice was palpable, but he still continued to pretend not to hear anyway, as he pressed the down button. “I really need your help. I really don’t know where I’m going and I can’t seem to move on. Please help me,” he pleaded. Xiaojun felt a little bad for the boy, but if he catered to every lost soul out there, then he would just be opening an opportunity for others to do the same without the promise of compensation.

“Mister Ghostbuster, please,” he pouted and Xiaojun tried his very best not to think that ghost boy was extremely cute. What was wrong with him? The boy was fucking dead.

“Thank you,” he muttered sadly. “Even though you don’t want to help me at least you think I’m super cute,” Xiaojun’s blood leaped through his system, unable to stop himself from turning to the pouting ghost. “I knew it!” he immediately beamed, pointing at him who was now looking straight. “I knew you could hear and see me.”

“How-”

“I can hear some of what you’re thinking, this has never happened before, it’s cool,” he smiled widely, still an uneasy contrast from the blood on his clothes. “Now will you help me?”

“No!” he gritted out, fearful that someone might hear him talking to no one. The elevator doors open and he stomps inside, when he turned, the bloodied boy was gone.

 

 

 

The next days were _brutal_ for Xiaojun. The bloodied ghost boy followed him around relentlessly, not only to his other cases but even in the most mundane moments of his life, he was tailed by a bloody boy, talking nonstop about how charity always brought upon good karma.

“You can’t just do this all for money all the time,” he would ramble on while he tried to focus on his actual clients. “You should give penniless people like me a chance,” but he just kept on pretending he didn’t hear him. Fortunately, the ghost didn’t follow him home and for the past few weeks, as soon as he stepped into the elevator, he always, _always,_ disappeared, as if the elevators themselves repelled him.

Xiaojun shivered. He was completely underdressed that night. He only had his hoodie on without anything else underneath while the temperature kept dropping throughout the night. He only needed to do his convenience store raid and he’d be done for the night. He already was preparing to sleep, he had removed his contacts and replaced them with his glasses but he remembered he didn't have anything for breakfast except for a bag of rice tucked somewhere. He paid hastily before walking back to his apartment, rushing back to his apartment for some warmth. He clutched the plastic bag close to his chest, watching his feet as he went. A pair of familiar-looking shoes faced him and he immediately had to back away, fearing that he might be mugged.

But it was just the bloodied ghost boy.

“Hi!” he smiled again. This boy could have been too bright no one could stand him. “Ghostbuster boy, I found you,” he stepped out of the way and allowed him to walk forward, is if Xiaojun couldn’t have just walked through him. “We can walk together if you like. It seems like standing here in the cold is stressing you out,” the could be one reason, but the bloodied ghost walking with him could be another. Xiaojun walked faster, trying to ignore the silent but loud presence of a ghost beside him. He was about to enter his apartment building when he stopped and turned to the ghost.

“Can you leave me alone?” he gritted out. Even though almost everyone in the neighborhood knew what he did and accepted it, he still didn’t want to be witnessed by anyone who didn’t explicitly pay him for it. “And don’t follow me to my apartment.

“I know which one it is,” he hung his head guiltily, he has never seen a ghost act that way before. “I followed the couple you helped last week, and they left something for you. I think those were gifts, but I overheard their conversation with the doorman. Unit 731 right?” Xiaojun huffed in annoyance, absolutely unwilling to house a _fucking_ ghost. “ _I’m sorry,_ ” the ghost slumped his shoulders in resignation, making him look more translucent that he already was. “But I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know where to go,”

“There are many others who don’t know where to go but fare fine,” he argued.

“I don’t know who I’m supposed to look for, who am I supposed to haunt for answers and solutions,” Xiaojun rolled his eyes and turned back to the building, feeling like the ghost won’t follow him anymore.

“I don’t even know my own name,” he whispered, almost to himself, but Xiaojun caught it. He froze on the spot, turning just in time for the ghost to slowly blur away.

“Wait, what?” Xiaojun called out, and he solidified again as if he was summoned. “You don’t know your name?”

The ghost stammered at first as if he didn’t expect Xiaojun to stop him. “W-well, I do know _a_ name, but I don’t know if it’s mine. I have a feeling it isn’t,” he frowned. “It’s just one name and it’s all I have.”

It was not unusual that some of the spirits couldn’t remember some of the details of their deaths and their lives, but he has _never_ encountered anyone who didn’t know at least a little bit of who they were—let alone their names. They always knew their names. _Always._ “Please help me,” he begged once again, looking up at him while he stood at the top of the steps. “I just need to know who I am, please.”

Xiaojun looked at him. He was wearing simple black, ripped jeans, and white canvas shoes filled with various drawings on random things aside from his bloodied, plain white shirt. If he was completely solid and without the blood in his clothes, he would have passed for someone who was just… _there._ But alas, he wasn’t, and in that cold March evening, Xiaojun finally felt bad for him. He blamed in on the cold weather.

“Fine,” he sighed. “But you need to follow what I tell you to do.”

“I don’t have a choice, do I? You’re my only hope,” he smiled sadly, shrugging.

“Let’s go,” it wasn’t like the ghost needed explicit permission to follow him around and enter his apartment, but he felt like the bloodied ghost boy wanted to have it anyway. “And please don’t scare me in the middle of the night. Not just because I’m psychic, doesn’t mean I’m not terrified of you.”

The boy smiled, tucking both his hands behind him like a politician talking business. “Can I take the elevator with you?” Xiaojun found the request weird, but he guessed it was just him being polite and courteous to make sure continues to help him.

 

 

 

Accepting a lost ghost into his home was a challenge, but he eventually relented. It wasn’t like he was going to _stay_ there, he was a goddamn ghost. He can just go away if he told him to. He dumped the plastic bag on the table as soon as he arrived, and looked at the boy in the middle of his room, standing awkwardly and looking around. “Is there a window seat behind those curtains?” he pointed to one corner of the room, darkened by his pitch-black curtains.

“Yeah,” Xiaojun walked towards it and revealed the window seat, looking out onto a beautiful view of the city. “I don’t like using it that much.”

“It’s so pretty here,” he leaned forward, smiling. “Why wouldn’t you?”

Xiaojun looked at him, not sure if he wanted to answer the question which weirdly felt intimate to him even though there wasn’t a reason why he didn’t, really. “I just don’t,” he shrugged off. “How did you know there was a window seat here?” he tried to change the topic.

“I don’t know,” he smiled, revealing deep dimples. “I just had a feeling it wasn’t just a window behind these curtains,” Xiaojun sighed, plans of going to bed while binging Netflix shows thrown away as he wanted to start researching right away.

“I still need to research and ask about your case, I haven’t encountered anything like it before. If I find anything, we can start working in the morning,” he grabbed some of the books he got from Ten before and opened his laptop for some of his personal notes to try to see if he has experienced anything at least remotely similar in the past. He stopped, wondering why he’s suddenly so interested in working on this when he probably can’t get anything out of it. Pity and curiosity were two interesting things.

 

Living with a ghost in his home didn’t turn out to be as terrible as he envisioned it to be. He had company so it wasn’t very lonely, but he didn’t have to have to spend anything because he didn’t use utilities and didn’t need food or sleep. He scared him a lot, though. The boy always appeared out of nowhere and had the habit of climbing shit. He first surprised Xiaojun when he decided to hide inside the kitchen cupboard.

He screamed, fortunately, low enough not too embarrassing for him. “What the fuck are you doing there?”

“I’m checking your supplies,” he smiled, managing to fit into a small square. Although if he tried, he probably could just transcend walls and stretch straight. That would be 10 times more terrifying, though. “Your pork and beans and can of mushrooms are expired,” Xiaojun sighed, before grabbing the cans so he can throw them out.

He also had a habit of walking the railings and even once pretended to fall from the building just for fun. “I’m a ghost I can’t die again,” he pointed out when he came back to a distressed Xiaojun.

“ _We don’t know that,_ ” he bit out, visibly shaken by seeing the other fall.

“Well now you do,” he pretended to dust himself off. “A ghost can’t die from falling off a building.”

He sometimes also hid in the fridge and the most terrifying of them all is when he decided it was a good idea to hide under Xiaojun’s bed.

“Jesus fuck!” He exclaimed when he reached for his slipper under his bed only to discover him lying there, deathly still with his eyes wide open.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “This place is warm, I like it.”

“Can you at least, _warn_ me so I don’t get a fucking heart attack?”

“Okay, sure.”

 

 

With his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, he flipped through the pages of the guide book he had, wondering where they could start. He could ask Ten, but he didn’t want to do it until he really couldn’t find answers—he didn’t want to seem incompetent in front of his mentor. He tried to ignore the presence of a bloody ghost sitting still in front of him. Deathly still. Even though he was dead, ghosts aren’t usually very still, they liked walking and moving around, and he has met a few who were as still as he was. “Please don’t sit like that,” he groaned, surprising the ghost boy. “You seem too much like a ghost.”

“I think I’m fairly behaved,” he answered softly. “At least that’s what I think. I don’t really know who I am… was."

Xiaojun looked at him, trying to gauge if this ghost was either really sad, or he was just a very good actor who wanted services for free.

“You know what,” he smiled gently. “If along the way, I spot an opportunity to make sure that someone pays you, I’ll do it,” he nodded earnestly, eyes widening at his own proposition. “I’m so desperate I’m willing to leave you alone with just my name, or someone I can latch onto, _anyone, anything,_ ” there was something in the others’ eyes, maybe it was desperation, maybe it was just his big eyes that seemed to sway him to help out—he felt like he couldn’t say no. “Are you listening to my thoughts again?”

He smiled, “I don’t do it intentionally, it just comes and goes. It only happened three times before.”

“What did you hear?”

The ghost scratched his chin, “The first was ‘where’s my shoe’, the second was ‘who is this boy?’ and the third is ‘but he looks cute’.” He tried not to blush at the last one. The first two were seemingly harmless and could have easily been normal, day to day thoughts, but the last one may indicate a little bit of what he thought. But it wasn’t going to blossom or anything like that, this isn’t a normal boy they’re talking about. _Sure,_ objectively speaking and speaking through experience, yeah, this boy may be his type, but not completely. His standards don’t include the category _ghost_ in it. Aside from being a spirit only he and a few other people can see, he’s completely someone Xiaojun could have hit on in the past.

He cleared his throat, trying to rid himself of the weird thoughts about a _ghost_ he happened upon _that day._ “We can start with the name, maybe?”

“It’s Qian Kun,” he enunciated clearly as Xiaojun wrote it down on a piece of paper. “I know the name may not be enough but it’s all I have.”

“I’ll try.”

 

 

The next days were almost pointless wastes of his phone bills as he called almost every single Qian Kun on the phone book and asking if they ever knew of a boy in his early 20s who has died in any sort of accident or even murder. But none of them did. They thought they came close a few times when one answered that he did know someone in his early 20s who tragically, but it was through drug overdose that kind of death didn’t leave someone bloodied, unlike the dejected boy sitting in front of him.

“There are more Qian Kun’s in the phonebook, we can still continue,” he said quietly, not expecting himself to comfort the ghost.

“I feel guilty,” he muttered, flashing a smile. “I might be wasting your time.” Xiaojun scoffed, maybe he should have thought of that before he forced himself into the others’ life. “But I’m just so desperate, you know? I’m just… _around._ I walk around, I observe other people, but I don’t know anyone, I don’t even know me,” for the first time ever since they met, he had never seen him have such a negative expression. He looked frustrated to no end. “Is this hell?” he asked him with wide, scared, eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he said quietly, wondering why he’s about to say whatever it was he wanted to say before even saying it. “If we don’t find anyone, you can stay with me,” he wasn’t completely sure if he meant it but the smile on the other boy’s face makes it almost worth saying.

 

 

He just came out of the shower and the spirit boy hasn’t been showing up for a few days and even though he has always been quiet, it felt so much quieter without another figure of a hunched boy sitting somewhere within the apartment. Even though he had the ability to communicate with ghosts, he didn’t exactly know what happened with them when they weren’t there. He just wondered what could he be up to the past few days that he wasn’t there. He looked around and sat on the floor, surrounded by books plus the phonebook bookmarked to all the Qian Kun’s in there, almost done with the entire list.

He sighed, before jumping back in shock at the familiar shoes that appeared in his line of vision. “Holy fuck,” he clutched his chest in surprise, his heart pounding quickly. “I told you not to scare me.”

“I’m sorry,” he didn’t seem to be, however, judging by the mischievous smile he had on. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Where were you?” he asked, pretending to focus on flipping the pages of a new occult book which could have the answers to the questions about bloodied ghost boy. He sat down on the floor right across him, crossing his legs revealing some of the drawings on his white canvas shoes. There were hand drewn rainbows, and stars, and hearts, but none of them provided any clue on who he was.

“Cemetery scanning,” he answered, too smiley for something so weird.

“What do you mean _cemetery scanning?_ ”

“I do it sometimes, I walk around the cemetery, checking every tombstone and reading every name. One of them might turn out familiar.”

Xiaojun frowned, wondering how horrible it must be. To spend days just trying to look for the place where your dead body was laid to rest. “One of them might be yours,” he clarified.

He shrugged, “Yeah. 

For some weird reason, he suddenly had the strongest urge to reach out. Even though he was fully aware that they won’t make contact, it was worth the illusion. He hovered his hand over the others’ getting the illusion that he had his hand over his. The underneath his suddenly turned over, threading their fingers together. Although it was only a phantom, the cold air against his palms and his fingers were unmistakable.

“If I had been alive,” he whispered. “I think these would have fit perfectly,” Xiaojun tried not to blush, but he could already feel the heat rising from his neck to his forehead.

“You know what,” he straightened his back, clearing his throat, pulling away and reaching for the telephone. “I need to call someone,” the phone rang three times before the line was picked up. “Hey, Ten.”

“Dejun,” the man on the other line answered, bored. He turned the speakers on so bloodied ghost boy could listen in to their conversation.

“I have some questions.”

“Shoot.”

“I have a very new encounter, and it’s proving very challenging right now,” the voice on the other line hummed, prompting him to continue. “He is a very clear…spirit. I can see and communicate with him, but he can’t provide me any information because he doesn’t have any idea who he was, or how he died, or he had no memories of any family member whatsoever.”

“Nothing at all?” his mentor’s voice perked, obviously interested.

“He remembers _one name,_ and nothing else. I’ve been following this single lead for a while but so far, no luck.”

Ten hummed again, thinking. “I’m not very sure about this case but all I know about spirits that run around with no idea about who they are, it’s usually because there’s nothing really to remember,” Xiaojun hesitated, and even considered turning away the speakers because he was quite uncomfortable about bloodied ghost boy hearing it. “It’s either his family and friends had stopped praying or remembering him, or he _doesn’t_ have family and friends to begin with. Bottom line, there’s no one there to remember him,” Xiaojun looked at him, dejected and even sadder than he’d ever seen him.

“Is that it?” he asked. “Isn’t there any chance of something else?”

“That’s all I know, Dejun,” he shrugs off. “But I could be wrong,” he ended the call with Ten hastily when the ghost boy stood up and walked away very quietly, walking to the balcony. Xiaojun ran after him, thinking he might disappear on him again, but he was there by the balcony, sitting while hugging his knees, making him look tinier.

“I’m a hopeless case, am I?” There was no self-pity in his eyes, only the pure feeling of resignation and hopelessness.

“Don’t say that,” by this time, the initial feeling of hostility he had from the ghost who won’t leave him alone was all gone. Now replaced by an utter sadness for the boy that he can’t quite place. Maybe it was just another form of pity that he hasn’t experienced before. “There are still five Qian Kun’s in this phonebook,” he raised the phonebook which he brought with him, as well as the wireless telephone. “Will you be here with me while I try?”

He stayed quiet, looking out at the view. “If we get no leads with this one?”

“Then as I’ve told you,” Xiaojun said gently. “You can stay with me and help me out.”

“That’s very generous of you,” he said in a very soft voice as he watched him sit on another vacant chair as he opened the phone book to call the five remaining Qian Kun’s who could give him at least a tiny lead.

 

 

The first three calls were bust, none of them had even known anyone who has died. Xiaojun was on the second to the last person and the ghost boy obviously had started losing hope.

“Qian Kun speaking, how may I help you?”

“Hi! My name is Xiao Dejun,” he cleared his throat, sensing that the person he has contacted was formal and professional. “Do you happen to know any boy in his… late teens to early 20s, who had died uhh….recently? 

The voice on the other line was silent as if he was hesitating. “What kind of call is this? Of course, I know, I think I know too many, I’m a doctor,” _A doctor,_ he mouthed to the bloodied ghost boy. This was more than the other Qian Kun’s had ever been. “You need to be more specific.”

“I don’t have a name. But it involves a _lot_ of blood. The boy is around 5’7, or 5’8, big eyes, white canvas shoes with rainbows, plain white shirt soaked with blood…?” he didn’t know where he was going with his description. If this person was really a doctor, he could have encountered more bloody people that ghostbuster Xiaojun has ever has in his entire life.

“White canvas shoes with rainbows?” With the question, Xiaojun straightened up, hopeful.

“ _Yes._ ”

“With the purple hearts and orange stars, white shirt soaked with blood and nothing else,” he murmured, not exactly to him but more to himself.

“Yes, yes, yes, that’s it,” he got even more excited as the description got more accurate. The bloodied ghost boy across him also looked the slightest bit excited with how the conversation was turning.

“I remember that boy,” Xiaojun beamed. “Traffic accident, I think. I couldn’t remember his entire information but I think we still have his file here. Is it important? You can come down here at the hospital tomorrow morning, I can open up the file for you.”

“Yes, please, thank you very much,” he nodded earnestly as he took down the information the doctor left him. When the call ended, he beamed up to the boy in front of him. “We have a bigger lead.”

 

 

 

The hospital wasn’t very difficult to locate especially since Xiaojun practically lived there for months two years ago. When he got into his own accident that caused him to have some very paranormal things come up, he had so many injuries that he had to stay at the hospital for such an extended time. He was continuously told that it was a good thing that he didn’t have any head trauma or he would have died.

With the bloodied ghost boy following him in, he went to the 5th-floor nurse’ station, asking for Doctor Qian Kun. A man, still looking too young to be a Doctor emerged from one of the doors, holding a box and a folder.

“Are you Xiao Dejun?” he asked kindly.

“Yeah.”

“Come with me to my office,” he nodded to the nurse politely before walking to another wing. His office was messy and cramped but still smelled like disinfectant, just like the rest of the building. “I’m sorry it’s messy, I had to sleep here last night,” he tried to clear his table until a small clear space opened up for him to put the box. “Please sit.”

He did, ignoring the fact that bloodied ghost boy sit so primly on the other seat as if he was instructed, too, putting both hands on his lap, like an obedient kindergarten kid.

“I had to look for this box, good thing we still kept this.”

“Doctor, isn’t this illegal? You can’t share patient information, right?” 

“Oh, this is no problem,” he waved off. “I remember this one quite clearly because we tried so hard to look for someone to claim the body but no one ever did. He had a driver’s license with him so we at least had enough information for the tombstone, but no family, I think. This is one of the rare cases where we are forced to carry out the memorial ourselves, and we’re just keeping our files just in case _someone_ turns up,” he opened the box and picked up a shoe which matched the one's ghost boy had exactly. Xiaojun beamed. This was going on better than he could have imagined—he honestly thought that the doctor could be a false lead.

“We only have one, I think the other one was left in the wreck when he was pulled out of there,” the doctor frowned. “But here’s what we have. His name was Huang Guanheng, he was 17 and 11 months when he died. Born September 28, 1999, died August 9, 2017. Blood type O, he was 5’7 ½, and the cause of death was multiple organ damage and blood loss,” he put the chart down. “Basically, he crashed with a truck carrying metal tubes, and he was punctured—right through,” Xiaojun winced, looking over to the ghost boy across him. Looking at himself conflictingly. This completely explained why he only had blood on his shirt and maybe some invisible splatters on his dark pants and nowhere else.

“Where was he buried?”

“The hospital has a special area for unclaimed people,” he started writing down on a piece of paper. “We all cremate them and kept them in one wing of this cemetery, so when a family does claim them, we can easily move the remains to wherever they want them to,” he handed Xiaojun the piece of paper with an address, complete with a building number, wing name, row letter, and the exact columbarium number.

“Thank you very much, Doctor,” he reached over to shake his hand.

“You know what, you’re very familiar.”

“Ah,” Xiaojun nodded. “I stayed here for two months years ago, maybe that’s why,” he stood up to prepare to leave as the doctor nodded, contemplating. “Again, thank you _so much._ ”

“My pleasure.”

“Huang Guanheng, Huang Guanheng,” the other tested the name on his lips as his smile grew and grew. “My name is Huang Guanheng. Yes,” he nodded as if deep within his thoughts, he confirmed that he was right. It felt right.

 

 

They waited for another few days before they went to the cemetery. Guanheng, as he is now learning to call him instead of bloodied ghost boy, stated that he wasn’t quite ready yet. A few days later, however, he says he was ready to visit his tomb and finally, _maybe_ be reunited with his remains. “I’m glad I was given a proper burial, though,” he smiled, joining Xiaojun by the window seat. I was one of those days when he didn’t have to do anything. After they’ve figured out Guanheng’s real name and cause of death, he insisted that he take a break from working on his case and focus on the fact that for the first time in months, he didn’t have an appointment.

“I’m sorry I kept you busy,” he smiled sheepishly, smiling too prettily for Xiaojun’s weak heart.

“It’s fine,” he shrugged. “I was super curious about your case anyway.”

“So apparently, I’m just a boy with no one to remember him.”

“Don’t say it like that,” he groaned, wanting to kick him. But obviously, he can’t.

“No, it’s fine, I think it’s fine,” he chuckled honestly, “There are so many people who had to grow up without a family.”

“And friends?” Xiaojun voiced out. He kept on wondering, someone who seemed as normal as he was, despite the fact that he was orphaned, he should have at least a few friends.

“Maybe I was an asshole,” he suggested.

 _That’s not possible._ If he was as nice when he was alive as he was right now, it was not possible that he didn’t have at least one friend. “No,” he shook his head, feeling himself grow very defensive of the ghost who wouldn’t leave him alone. “Maybe Ten was wrong, maybe someone does remember you and they just didn’t know where to look for you.”

“Well, I don’t think so,” he frowned a little before smiling again, revealing so much about his personality. He just hoped he wasn’t forcing himself to be positive about things, he was a ghost, he should consider himself to have a free pass on being a bitch. “But I do hope so.”

 

 

 

The cemetery was far into the countryside, where mausoleums of big families were located, and where the hospital’s very own wing for unclaimed dead people was at. Guanheng followed him around, a bloody shadow of a seemingly normal boy. Even though he said it wasn’t necessary, he still bought a bouquet of flowers to offer for his columbarium. He had a dozen white roses, all arranged into a pretty formation with a few baby’s breath’s decorated in. “Those flowers are really pretty,” he said quietly beside him, walking in pace. “Thank you very much.”

“It’s no bother,” he said, equally quiet. The serenity of the place required them to do so, as anything louder than a whisper could disturb the peace.

“Why did you get white roses? Are those typical flowers for the dead?”

“Not really,” he went red from the neck up to his forehead, and he felt himself heat up, even to the tips of his ears just by thinking about why he picked the flowers for him. “It just reminded me of you.”

“Really?” he grinned, excited. “I remind you of a white rose? I don’t know what that means but just looking at them make me flattered.”

He pursed his lips, cursing himself. Why did he have to choose it? Even though it was nothing romantic, it showed too much of his budding affection. For a ghost, nonetheless. There was nothing more pathetic and lonelier than that. “It reminds me of you because you’re innocent and kind, and gentle, and you have the purest soul. Maybe that’s why I can see you so clearly as if you weren’t dead,” Xiaojun tried to look everywhere except the boy trying to keep up with his strides.

“Aww,” he smiled again, flashing the dimples that he would have definitely pinched if he could just. “That’s so sweet.”

Xiaojun stopped, however, when he spotted a figure so familiar to him. “Mom?” he whispered to himself, unsure. “Mom!” he called out when he was sure that it was her. He didn’t catch her from the front but he recognized the bag that she had over her shoulder. “Ooh, that’s your mom?” Guanheng murmured beside him as he sped walk towards her. She turned to look at him, and she was almost horrified to find him there.

“Dejun!” her eyes were wide as if she didn’t expect her psychic slash ghostbuster son would be at a _cemetery._ “What are you doing here?” he hugged her sideways.

“Just for a client,” he shrugged, and she visibly relaxed. “How about you?”

“Oh,” she waved him off. “I was just visiting an old friend.”

“You have an old friend who’s dead?"

“Yeah, someone from school,” Xiaojun nodded in understanding as he tried to ignore Guanheng who was introducing himself to his mother as if she could hear and see him.

“You know you shouldn’t hang out in places like this so much,” she shook her head. Although she supported him in whatever he wanted to do, she constantly pointed out the fact that she didn’t like that he worked with spirits too much.

“I’m fine, mom,” he assured her, patting her by the shoulder. “You should get going, I’m just gonna be quick here, anyway,” she looked at the building behind her again, before walking away.

They entered the building indicated in the piece of paper the doctor gave him. They had to climb up three more flights of stairs before they turned a corner to the hall of the unclaimed.

Xiaojun stared at some of the columbaria, most of them were nameless, and only had an inscribed date of death. He remembered the sign by the entrance—an updated contact number of the hospital, in case you were looking for anyone they might have laid to rest there, or if they recognized anyone’s name. Although he thought Guanheng’s columbarium will be depressing, he thought the others within the hall were even much more so. At least he had a name and date of birth while the others were just plain, blank slates.

They made another turn before one columbarium finally caught their eyes. Fresh, bright pink flowers decorated the small space carefully laid horizontally with the nameplate carefully re-adjusted to make sure that it’s displayed.

_Huang Guanheng._

_Born: September 28, 1999_

_Died: August 9, 2017_

There was a tiny, laminated 2x2 picture by the urn and there was no denying that it was him. He seemed to be wearing a black shirt, with a tiny smile on his face. It was obviously for something official like a government document or an ID, probably taken from his wallet after his car wreck.

“It’s me,” he pressed his face against the glass, looking at the picture by the urn. “I’ve been here for two years.”

Xiaojun looked at him, face conflicted—stuck between sadness and awe. “Dejun, I’ve been dead for almost three years.”

He frowned. He might have just stated the obvious but it wasn’t like he knew how it felt like to discover that you’ve been dead for years and you’ve been wondering that entire time, not knowing who you were and not knowing what happened to you and the rest of your life.

“Let’s focus on the most important thing right now,” he whispered, taking his attention. If he could reach out to his hand and hold it around his for comfort, he would. But it was silly for him to even consider that he could. “Judging by how fresh these flowers are, someone just visited you and that’s a lead. Ten can be wrong, someone might still remember you.”

Guanheng smiled at him fondly and attempted to touch his face, but it only went through. A cool breeze caressed his face as the boy did it, sending a shiver down his spine. But this time, he knew it wasn’t because a ghost tried to touch his face. “That’s nice, but if someone really looked out for me,” he looked at the pretty flowers. “Don’t you think I would have been claimed by anyone by now?”

He looked at the flowers, _azaleas,_ which meant ‘thank you’. Could those have been just placed there by mistake? If someone did care enough to leave flowers, why couldn’t they just move him to another columbarium, somewhere he wasn’t classified as an unclaimed, unloved dead person? He smiled at his own picture, and when he was satisfied, he walked away and walked out of the building. Xiaojun didn’t say anything—he didn’t want to disturb him since he obviously needed to be alone with his thoughts.

Twilight had taken over and the entire cemetery glowed with the late afternoon light. Some of the light came right through Guanheng and that kind of freaked him out. He usually looked so _solid_ he sometimes forgot he was a ghost. Orange light made him look more translucent are barely human. Xiaojun could almost imagine how he would actually look like if he was there, alive with a beating heart, with glossy black hair reflecting the sunset. “Xiaojun,” he turned, hands tucked into his pockets. “How do I move on?”

“What do you mean?”

“How do I…” he smiled, shrugging. “Go into the light?”

For some weird reason, he didn’t like how that sounded like. Almost daily, he faces issues of moving on but he always  _always_ knew what to do. He always succeeded in letting them go. This one, however, he had no idea. “Souls… spirits, whichever you prefer, usually just go to the afterlife directly. However, when they’re left behind, it’s usually because they have some unfinished business.”

“So, I have unfinished business?”

“Most probably.”

“And we don’t know what that is.”

“No, we don’t.”

 

 

 

“Ten, I really don’t know what to do,” he shook his head, trying to be as quiet as possible. He was sitting on the kitchen table, fumbling with a book which he watched Guanheng pretend to walk the balcony railing, arms outstretched and eyebrows furrowed in concentration as if he was, ironically, trying not to fall to his death. “I’m stuck,” he immediately forced himself to smile back when Guanheng turned to him and smiled widely.

“Are you really?” Ten usually didn’t take him too seriously, but his voice, this time, was far from teasing. It was more—gauging if anything else.

“What do you mean?” he tested him, feeling like he _knew_ what he was trying to imply but also hoping that he wasn’t too obvious.

“You’re too good at your job to be terrible, now, Dejun,” he sighed exasperatedly. “Just get him out of your head. Concentrate, okay? Close your eyes,” there was a reason why Ten was his mentor. He only met him after his accident and when he had gone for help when he started seeing and hearing people he didn’t before. He always managed to see logic despite being a psychic, and he always managed to know what to do with him when he couldn’t do what he needed to.

As if by instinct, Xiaojun already closed his eyes before Ten even instructed him to. This case is of a middle-aged woman, she wears a black dress, and she wears those tall-ass heels that make a clicking sound. You’ve uncovered _a lot,_ Dejun. A lot. But now, suddenly, you’re stuck again. What do you do?” Following every description Ten made, he successfully imagined a sophisticated, CEO looking alpha female.

“I go back to the basic things I know about her,” he answered.

“Yes, which are?”

“Her name, cause of death, physical appearance, and where I met her first,” his eyes suddenly flew open, making the exact realization. “I need to go back to that building. Why was he _there_ in the first place?”

“ _Very good,_ ” he could almost hear the smugness laced in his voice. “And Dejun,” Ten called out before he could even hang up.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t fall in love,” his heart dropped, not expecting the remark. “There are so many people out there. Don’t fall in love with someone dead.”

 

 

 

Completely ignoring Ten’s advice, he was sitting on the floor with Guanheng while he listened to him read a book. Xiaojun didn’t care for it very much and he doubted the other did, too, but he said he wanted to listen to him read so then can relax for a while before they start taking the leads Xiaojun wanted to take. “I have forever, I’m dead, it’s not like I’m going anywhere else,” he had said, urging Xiaojun to take all the time that he needed and not feel pressure to rush into solving Guanheng’s problem. The book itself was already quite predictable, with the title itself, but they enjoyed it more rather than just silence. His voice was methodical and elaborate, but quiet. They sometimes stopped if they had certain comments, or maybe even questions about the plot.

“You know,” Guanheng said quietly when Xiaojun took a breather to flip to the newer chapters. “I would have loved that world, the one they have in the book.”

Xiaojun bookmarked the page before putting it down on his lap. Guanheng had curled his legs towards his body, making him so much smaller than him when in reality, he was slightly bigger. He hugged his legs together, and he had the strongest urge to ask him if he _felt_ his own body or if it was air or nothing for him, too. “I would have loved it if they texted me the day I died, or called me. I would have loved it if they told me I would die that day so I would have enjoyed that day. If I didn’t.”

“Did you really think it ended so badly for you?” Xiaojun asked with the gentlest voice he could manage to conjure.

Guanheng smiled, looking down at his shirt and smiling back at him. “Well,” he chuckled. “I hope I died right away, at least.”

Xiaojun’s head was suddenly thrown back involuntarily as he had his own flashed to his own accident. It startled him, to say the least, and it surprised Guanheng, too. “Hey, are you okay?"

He shook his head, trying to get the blinding lights, the darkness, and the warmth from his mind. “Yeah, that happens sometimes,” he continued shaking his head. “I almost died in an accident, too, my brain’s just reacting.”

“I’m sorry,” he turned, facing him. “I won’t talk about it if you want.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” he appreciated it, but even though the memories coming back sometimes caused him to be uncomfortable and was even sometimes painful, he figured that if it meant that he could gain back the memories that he lost, even though menial and insignificant, according to his mother, still felt like they would complete him. He scooted closer, stretching both his legs on both sides of Guanheng. Although he was technically just an apparition and he could have just stretched right in front of him, it was still very rude to kick a person straight at the balls. Plus, the position seemed very intimate to him. He tried not to think about the fact that in the normal person’s eyes, he’s just a boy stretching his legs on the floor, talking to nobody in particular.

“You have no idea how much I wish I was alive right now,” he whispered, staring at Xiaojun intensely—almost too intensely for both of them to handle.

“Like… more than usual?” he challenged.

“So much more than usual,” Guanheng shook his head, “You have no idea,” he reached over, slowly attempting to run his hands along Xiaojun’s thigh, sending cold touches all over his skin. “Would I have felt this when I was alive?”

“Felt what?”

“You know,” he tried to suppress a smile, sending weird shooting sensations throughout Xiaojun’s face as he refused to look at him. “This.”

“I hope you did,” he genuinely replied. Xiaojun sure has not before, as far as he remembered. He’s had crushes before, but none quite as intensely. No one had made him _slightly_ consider if things could be better if he was dead. “But don’t worry,” he glanced at the book, decided to quote a line from it. “No matter how we choose to live… we both die at the end.”

 

 

Xiaojun bounced his foot impatiently as he waited for the building manager. He was alone that time, Guanheng suddenly went in the morning, gone to wherever he wanted to without saying anything to him. _Because_ he was gone, Xiaojun decided to visit the building where they first met because he won’t be able to stop him this time. He knew what he was doing—he was trying to delay finding answers, wanting to stay longer. But Xiaojun was considerably curious, and he could just keep the answers if Guanheng didn’t want to know.

The doorman had called the building manager when he realized the questions that Xiaojun had were out of his jurisdiction. Eventually, a tall woman emerges from the elevator, who went straight to the computer area before calling out Xiaojun.

“Hi,” she smiled kindly, “You had the questions, right?”

“Yeah,” he walked forward. “Can I ask if you have any records of someone named _Huang Guanheng?_ ”

She typed in the words as he tried to pronounce it accurately for her. “Huang Guanheng?”

“Yeah.”

“Just for verification, when is his birthday?”

Fortunately, it was the only thing aside from his date of death that Xiaojun knew about. “September 28, 1999. And if that’s right, and that’s really the same Guanheng, it’s _was,_ he’s gone now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” she hung her head and pursed her lips before clicking more things on the computer. “Seems like a unit filled with sadness.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was a tenant for Unit 820.”

“Unit 820?” That’s Xuxi’s former unit.

“Yeah, he paid it alternately with a man named Huang Xuxi, and sometime in the third quarter of 2017, he was taken off the list of tenants.”

“He died August of that year,” Xiaojun informed her, frowning, still surprised that Guanheng _knew_ Xuxi. They shared the same house, they were most probably close friends. “Which information do you have about him?”

“We don’t need a lot from our tenants, especially if their names aren’t the main ones in the contract. Their contract belonged to the boy named Xuxi so we don’t have a lot on him. All we have is his name, birthdate, hometown, contact number, and his emergency contact number.

“You have an emergency contact number for him? Can I have it?” he leaned in closer in excitement.

“I’m sorry, sir, but although he’s gone, his emergency contact might still be and we can’t give their number to you.”

He hung his shoulders, discouraged at another slump that he had to face. After thanking her, he sat by the small receiving area, trying to dig out more ideas for him to track that leads to Guanheng’s family or friends. He scrolled through his cellphone anxiously, not knowing what to do by then. He just pressed his screen and scrolled through all of his applications mindlessly.

He stopped, suddenly getting a weird realization. He stared at Xuxi’s mother’s phone number—and without even second thoughts, he called the number.

 

 

 

Guanheng was back with him, lying face flat on the bed, groaning as Xiaojun lay parallel him, but the other way around, as Xiaojun’s feet, were by his head, and he was facing the ceiling rather than burying his face onto the pillow. “You found _two_ leads and both of them lead nowhere?” he groaned into his pillow again when he finally got the courage to tell him what he did.

“Yeah,” Xiaojun admitted defeatedly. “The building only had an emergency contact as valuable information but they couldn’t give it out, but apparently, you lived in the apartment I went to the last time, and I still had his parents number. I called them to ask about you. They knew you, and they knew that their son had a roommate, but they didn’t know a lot about you. All they knew was that you had two close friends, one was Xuxi, and the other one was a person that they didn’t know. That’s all I got.”

“Who is this other person? No one knows him,” Guanheng leaned up on his elbows, staring at Xiaojun’s shoes.

“Right?” His translucent ankle was on display and he noted how sharp his bones were while he studied the drawings on the others’ shoes. There were 2 rainbows just on the shoe nearest to him, and another drawing of a star, a moon, and a few other scattered stars. “Do you remember doing this?” Guanheng looked back at him. “No,” he shook his head. Xiaojun continued to study it, the details clearer with color. The back of the shoe had small black writing that he could hardly make out.

_Huang Guanheng._

Xiaojun snorted. “Guanheng,” he giggled, mostly out of amazement. “You had your name written on the back of your shoe the entire time, apparently.”

“What?"

“Yeah, it’s written here,” he pointed out. “Huang Guanheng.”

He moved on to the other shoe, now convinced that it might have more clues. There were more drawings, albeit considerably worse than the drawings on the other shoe. These were definitely drawn by two or even three different people. He immediately checked the back of the shoe, only to find an almost identical scribble there: _Xiao Dejun._

 _Xiao Dejun._ What?

“Did you know me?” Xiaojun asked urgently, getting up to look at Guanheng.

“What?” he looked alarme but more confused rather than. “What do you mean?”

“Your shoe says Xiao Dejun,” he voiced out, finally clearing his mind.

“But no, it can be another Xiao Dejun there could be someone else with the same name.”

“But it can be me,” he looked up hopefully. “There’s a part of my memory that I don’t have, maybe you’re in there somewhere,” Guanheng looked at him, unsure. “We should at least try it. We can make sure if it’s me or not. I can go visit my mom on my own, maybe she knows you.”

He tilted his head, trying to look Guanheng in the eyes while he had his head down. He needed to trust him, and he needed to explore every possible angle to this. He knew that it might be a dead end. There are too many Xiao Dejun’s in the world and there is a huge possibility that it’s just a coincident but he knew he needed to try. He hesitantly agreed while Xiaojun’s heart pounded against his ribcage. He didn’t know if the answer was with him all along, but if they really did know each other, how could they have been related? Was he a relative? Or a friend? Could he be the second friend everyone familiar with Guanheng referred to? His mother probably had the answers to that.

 

 

 

He hadn’t come home in many months, enjoying the time alone especially since his work creeped his mom out. She was very superstitious and hated it when he just came home from a client, fearing he may be followed around by evil spirits. His mother lived there alone now, while his father came home only every weekend and his brother only came home even more rarely than he does. The gate silently opened, and he padded quietly down the familiar path before knocking on their door.

“Mom?” he called out when she didn’t answer right away.

“Jun?

“It’s me, mom,” he called out again before she finally opened the door for him.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” her hands were wet and she wore an apron so she was most probably washing the dishes when he arrived. It was getting darker outside and he almost had a heart attack when he looked out into the window and saw Guanheng right outside their gate, standing like the ghost that he actually is. He clutched his chest, before exhaling in relief. He looked back to make sure his mom wasn’t looking before giving him a shy, tiny wave, which he returned enthusiastically. He walked all the way there with him, but he maintained his stance that he didn’t enter other people’s homes without their consent so he insisted on staying outside.

“I was going to ask you something,” he sat on one of the chairs in the living room while she peeked her head from the kitchen while she hung her apron and wiped her hands. She walked back with a glass of water and sat opposite him.

“What is it?”

“Did you know someone… did _we_ know someone named Huang Guanheng?” As soon as her face morphed into horror, then panic, he finally confirmed, that he _did_ have something to do with them. She tried to calm herself down but her chest was still heaving, and Xiaojun’s mind was immediately plagued with questions. Who was Guanheng and if they did know him, why was he completely out of the picture? He still knew his parents, his brother, and his friends, and he only forgot certain events with them. But if Guanheng was a friend, why was he completely forgotten by him? Was she the only one who knew him and not Xiaojun?

“Why do you ask?”

“Answer me first, mom,” he had the strongest feeling that if he told her why she asked, she would lie about she knew him. “Did we know someone with that name?” he asked, this time, firmly, almost scolding. His tone made her crack.

“ _Where did you get that name?_ ” she seethed. He didn’t answer her, if she was reacting this way, he was sure there was something in here that involved him. “ _Xiao Dejun, where did you get that name?!_ ”

Suddenly, he had the instinct to lie and make up a story to make sure she fessed up. “From the cemetery,” he tried to recall the day they ran into her while visiting an old friend. “I saw the picture and…and…I saw glimpses of that person,” he lied. The picture didn’t trigger any of the memories in him. If more, the small touches did. But not the picture.

The color drained from her fac as if someone had sucked all the blood from off her face. “Dejun…I…I did what I thought was best for you.”

“What do you mean mom?” Even though he had no idea what she was talking about, he ha growing anger bubbling within him. A strong feeling that she had cheated not only him but pure, innocent, kind, Guanheng. “What do you mean?”

“When the doctors said you’ve forgotten around five of your most recent years, I just took the chance,” she tried to reach out to him desperately but he moved the slightest distance away. “It wasn’t good for you to remember him, you were better off that way.”

“Who was he, mom?” he demanded. She sunk back further into her seat and sighed so deeply he thought he was going to exhale her stomach out. His mind was still pounding with questions and he could feel his pulse against his temple but he chose to hold back and not barrage her with questions.

“You saw his columbaria?”

He nodded.

“You noticed anything about his date of death?”

“It was a day after my 18th birthday,” he supplied his observation and she nodded.

“I hid your hospital information from you but you also got into the accident on the same day. You got into that accident—together—in the same car,” he gasped, looking out to see Guanheng there, trying to walk over their fence just like what he always does in the balcony. He turned back to her. “Why were we together, mom?” he asked, energy drained out of him. His mind was a jumble of sudden flashbacks and questions all while trying to make sense of everything is messing with his brain.

“Mom,” he demanded firmly one last time. “Please."

“We were celebrating your birthday, and he was waiting outside and you were waiting for the perfect chance to introduce him to us. I—I got angry, we got into an argument and you stormed away. You were angry, and you were driving, then the next thing we knew, you lost control of the breaks, and you crashed onto a truck carrying tubes,” she buried her face in her hands, rubbing them gently. “He reacted in time, he jumped over to your seat and covered your entire head with his body.”

A sharp pain went through his head, as he remembered the familiar sensations for him: the blinding light, then the darkness, then the warmth. “You have a small scar near your nose,” she pointed out as he unconsciously touched it. _Guanheng? He did that? What were they? Was he really the second friend everyone referred to?_ “That’s where one of the tubes lacerated your face a little when it went through his body. The doctor pointed that out, and told me that if he didn’t put himself between you and the collision, that tube might have pierced straight through your head,” he grimaced, visual too vivid in his mind. He can almost feel the pain from two years ago when his face was sutured and kept on itching his face.

“I would have died,” he added. He could still remember all the times he complained about his broken legs, his headaches, and the scars on his face. He complained about how his face was never going to be perfect again and how he was scared that he might walk with a limp forever. He remembered being such an ass then. He didn’t even know that an orphan boy died because of him—without knowing that he took Xuxi’s best friend and might have even contributed to his own accident. He complained and complained without knowing that a spirit had to wander around in desperation to look for his own body for almost three years just because nobody else knew him.

He had no family.

Xuxi was gone.

And he had forgotten.

“How were we related?” He felt like he had run out of energy and unable to digest everything that just happened.

“Stay here,” she whispered before leaving her seat and going upstairs. Xiaojun waited there patiently as he waited for her to come back. He looked out again, and watched Guanheng’s spirit tried his best not to overstep the threshold of their home as he tried to smell the flowers from their garden.

He knew this boy.

Somewhere within his lost memories, he had a boyfriend or something else, who died just to keep him alive. Somewhere in there, there was a boy who respected boundaries, who talked quietly, smiled all too widely, and stopped to smell the flowers. He spotted him looking and he straightened up, and smiled at him. His chest is too bloody for him now. Bright red and dark blood marred his shirt with the darkest part pooling around the left side of his chest. He could imagine the tube going through that very chest—it was impossible for him to have survived that, it could have even hit a part of his heart.

He unconsciously put a hand on his face, his tiny scar is the only remaining reminder that he was ever in that accident.

Heat pooled behind his eyes and he tried so hard not to cry. All this time he thought he had no one aside from his family and Ten. But all this time, he had one other person—hell, maybe even two others. Could Xuxi have recognized him if they were friends? Did he try to communicate that to him?

He turned away with a tiny smile when his mother came back down with a big box in her hands before she put them in front of him. “I removed all of his things from your apartment before I let you move back there. A lot of personal belongings, while some belonged to…the both of you.”

Xiaojun left there carrying the box out of there while Guanheng stared at him curiously. He didn’t open it there, it didn’t seem right for him to look at the contents alone.

“I don’t have answers,” he whispered, motioning for him to follow. “Let’s go home.”

 

 

 

As soon as they were in, hid the box inside his room before walking back to the living in the room in haste. Yes, he had answers now. But he still needed to make sense of things—what were they? Is he ready for him to go?

“Are you okay?” He approached him quietly, sad eyes trying to seek answers from Xiaojun. But he couldn’t look at him yet. All he can think of is how he let his emotions get the best of him and now there are two very dead boys just because of that.

He exhaled, willing himself to think straight and think all of this through. “I’m sorry I told you I didn’t have answers,” he admitted right away. Guanheng sat on the floor by the balcony door as he looked out to the full moon and invited him to sit beside him. “I do but I still need to make sense of the information I have. Will you give me time?”

Guanheng smiled and nodded. “I already told you, I like staying with you. I’m not in a rush to leave.”

“Thank you,” he hung his head. “I’m not sure I’m ready to let you go, either,” he whispered ever so quietly, almost exclusively to himself but Guanheng heard him anyway. “I can tell you some things, though. Are you ready?”

“Shoot.”

“We were at least friends,”

Guanheng looked at him, with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “At least?” He teased.

“Yes, _at least_ friends. And we-we were in the car together when it happened.”

“What?” All playfulness had slipped and he turned to him incredulously.

“Remember my accident?'

“Yeah, you’ve told me about it,” he motions to the scar on his cheek. “This is the only scar you have,” he looked at Xiaojun so softly and filled with so much fondness that at the moment, he _could_ see how he would jump over to save him. He seemed like that type of person. He befriends people, he falls in love with people, and he gives love so intensely that he would give his own life for someone else.

“It’s the same accident with yours,” he hung his head. “I wasn’t focused and I got us into the accident. I killed you, and there’s no consolation to that,” his chest was heavy. He didn’t know what to feel exactly. Was this his punishment? Should he be stuck with a ghost which constantly reminds him of his mistakes or should he be cursed of having to bear letting him go and move on?

“I kind of figured,” he said, voice almost as quiet as Xiaojun’s. “I thought there was no way no one else can see me and only you do. I thought that you might either be my unfinished business, you could be the one who caused my death, or you could be both.”

He looked up, bothered by how calmly he’s taking this. “How are you so _chill_ about this?”

“Dejun, I’m dead,” for the first time, he said something so seriously and so firmly, it was the first time he had taken that tone. “Don’t beat yourself up for something that will never make me come back. _Nothing_ can make me come back. What’s happened has happened, and I’m here, you can see me, we can talk to each other-”

“What if I wanted to touch you, what if I wanted to feel you? What if you wanted to feel me without going through?” he challenged. “Don’t you.”

“I do,” he groaned. “I do, so much. I’ve always wondered how your face felt and I’ve always wanted to feel your back move while you breathed but we should accept the fact that I’m _dead._ Hell, we met that way, I’m a spirit, there was never going to be a way to bring me back.”

“But there could have been a _future,_ ” he bit out. This time, he failed to stop himself from crying. “There could have been a future for you, _for us,_ we knew each other. We were driving away from our house because I wanted to introduce you to my parents and they got angry at me. Why did you think they reacted that way?”

“Because…” he obviously was trying not to make the assumptions that Xiaojun obviously was. But there was no other explanation. “We could have been dating.”

Xiaojun fell quiet. Voicing it out now, it could have been highly possible, really. He couldn’t remember his entire high school years, and considering how he was back then, he would completely be attracted to the wide-eyed boy. He could imagine him in their high school uniform, prim and proper, soft-spoken and smiling. And extremely understanding and kind. Xiaojun would have been one of those boys who didn’t wear their uniforms properly and played guitar by the quadrangle with the rest of his smelly, sweaty, friends and he could completely imagine Guanheng passing by. Clean, fresh, and smart looking. Wind could be messing his perfect hair up but it didn’t make him any less attractive. And Xiaojun would stare at him the entire time.

Except his imagination was vivid. _Too vivid._ It was a memory.

 

\---

 

 

That night, Xiaojun’s dreams were just filled by Guanheng.

 

Xiaojun had been sweaty from running around the soccer field and he hat shut his locker quite loudly in frustration. He had forgotten to bring a towel and he hated feeling dirty on the way home. A boy a few lockers over, someone not completely familiar to him, was startled by the sound. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, earning a small smile from the other boy.

 

“You can have this,” he quietly approached, handing over a towel. “Don’t worry I haven’t used it yet,” he smiled. He was slightly taller than Xiaojun but his posture was terrible which brought his entire height down. With a cute little button nose and sparkly eyes. He has a vague memory of ever seeing the boy in school before but he can’t say he knew him.

 

“No! No, that’s fine. Are you sure?”

 

“Yeah,” he nodded earnestly.

 

“Thank you.”

 

He was singing a soft song with Yangyang and Xuxi when he spotted him from the other side of the quad, walking quietly while he clasped a meat bun on his hand, walking methodically and calmly. He didn’t just blend into the crowd, he sunk within it, and he disappeared enough for him to have to swerve multiple times to avoid from being bumped into. He didn’t have his head down and he was walking normally, he obviously shrunk down when people got too close or too rowdy. He was going in the direction of the quad and as Xiaojun watched him walk, he eventually realized that he was approaching them.

 

“Hi,” he eventually stood right in front of him. “Thank you for the other day,” he handed him the small meat bun he’d been clasping for dear life and smiled at him. Two days ago Xiaojun had called out two boys who had been obviously making him uncomfortable. They were touching his arms and thighs and he kept shrinking away from it but didn’t say anything. Even though he was tiny, he was still best friends’ with the biggest and strongest boy in school and Xuxi’s power definitely extended towards him.

 

“You’re welcome,” he smiled by instinct. “Do you wanna join us?” he asked without asking the others and he looked to them for approval but they were already inviting him over.

 

“Can I?”

 

“Sure!” Xuxi immediately smiled widely, scooching over to the side to give him some space to sit down. “We were just jamming to some songs, nothing serious.”

 

Xuxi eventually adopted Guanheng, taking him under his wing. The quiet, well-behaved member of Xuxi’s wild group of friends. All three of them adjusted quite well to having a fourth person in the group. Unbeknownst to them, Xiaojun had been harboring something else that he couldn't quite place.

 

After a particularly exhausting day of preparing for the school festival Yangyang and Xuxi went the other way while he and Guanheng walked towards their homes. He had both his hands in front of him, tucked and stable while he looked at his surroundings with wide eyes. Xiaojun wanted to ask him something but he didn’t exactly know what he wanted to ask. All he knew was that he felt like he should ask him something. Did he want to ask if Guanheng liked him, too? But what if he was straight? What if he was just nice to everyone else and Xiaojun was no different from literally _everyone else?_ What if he destroyed their friendship with that one question?

 

“Speak out, Dejun,” he suddenly said, startling him.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You make that ‘hmm’ sound when you want to say something but keeping it in. Speak,” although his words were blunt, his tone was extremely gentle. There was nothing hard-hitting with Guanheng. He was just soft and comfortable and lovely and he reminded him of white roses.

 

“Is it okay for you if I...If I liked you?”

 

“Of course, we’re friends. We all like each other.”

 

“No, I mean,” he stuttered. He looked over to see Guanheng smiling mischievously. “You... asshole.”

 

“Who? Me?” he widened his eyes and flashed the smile he knew Xiaojun was weak against.

 

“You’re making this so difficult,” he hid his face in his hands when he felt the heat rise up from his neck. He didn’t feel like there were butterflies in his stomach. It felt like a whole zoo trapped in that thing. All of which he had to suppress whenever he looked at him. He made him feel like he’s in heaven and more. And one of the worst things he’s had to endure in his life is trying to bottle it all up. “It’s fine if you don’t like me back, but please tell me if you’re uncomfortable with it, I can totally just...move on,” he didn’t know if he could at that point but he Guanheng was, then he’d just have to hide his feelings to make sure they’re still friends. “I mean, we’re still friends, right?” his tone sounded desperate.

 

“Of course,” his breath drops. Maybe he doesn’t really like him back. But at least, they were still friends. “But no,” he shook his head, and for the first time, looked conscious. “Uhh… I am, too… uhhh...I mean, I like you, too.”

 

It was slow moving for both of them especially since Xiaojun usually never knew what to do when it came to Guanheng. He was always reduced to mush and a stuttering mess, and never knew what to do. His hands were sweaty and nervous the first time they held hands and it was Guanheng who kissed him first. They were on his bed, the new apartment still bare and unfurnished. All he and Xuxi had each were mattresses pushed against the wall and their personal belongings. After the movie had ended, he suddenly leaned over Xiaojun and pressed on gentle kiss on his lips.

 

Xiaojun looked at him for the longest time, and he was almost overwhelmed by how intensely he felt right at that moment. He couldn’t believe he has him, He couldn’t believe he gets to kiss this boy. He pulled him back down gently, kissing him again.

 

They had been dating for 3 months and it was the first time they’d ever done anything intimate. It was a turning point, sure. Especially because they both liked proximity. Even though Guanheng didn’t express it much, when it was just the two of them, he always liked connecting them in any way possible. Intertwined fingers, interlocked pinkies, hugging, cuddling, making out...it wasn’t difficult for them to spend time and express physically especially when they both don’t express through words very much. It was Xiaojun who usually couldn’t hold things for very long and eventually told Guanheng.

 

They were almost graduating, both 16 years old and dating for a year, they both still weren’t sure if what they felt for each other was just puppy love, or if it was something that could last forever. But one thing was sure, for Xiaojun, at least. He couldn’t see being with anyone else other than him. He looked well into the future, he even thought of possible fights, how they looked like when they grew old, and he saw it. He saw it all. How they’re still gonna be together, in love with each other. If Guanheng still wanted him until then, then of course.

 

“Guanheng,” he looked at him while he continued scrubbing the dishes.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I love you,” he was immediately startled when he dropped the plate on the sink and wrapped his arms around him, kissing him suddenly.

 

“I love you, too. So much.”

 

 

 

\---

 

A few weeks ago, Xiaojun had remembered. Everything. _Everything._ He gained them all back during his sleep, and when he woke up one day, it was complete and the ghost sitting on the foot of his bed is no longer the bloodied ghost boy, but the fading spirit of his boyfriend. Ever since then, too, Guanheng had started becoming more transparent, as if his body recognized the fact that Xiaojun is starting to remember him. He faded at an alarming rate, until one day, he just decided to spend it for something worthwhile.

He invited the continuously fading boy in the living room so they can open the box that they had been ignoring for a while. He excitedly sat on his hands while Xiaojun pulled out his clothes one by one. His heart was heavy but he tried not to show it. He’s been trying to weigh the consequences of the various course of action for him but all he’s come up with is just...to let it go. He isn’t ready. Not in the slightest bit. But he could also feel it. If he didn’t do anything _soon,_ he could wake up one day and Guanheng would be gone. Forever. Permanently this time.

When he didn’t expect, however, was for the bottom of the box to have more than just clothes. It had more boxes in it. The first one wasn’t very heavy, but it had considerable weight to it. He took it out first and it turned out to have various meaningless trinkets. But to Xiaojun, they weren’t just trinkets, they were memories of them being together. Most of the things in the box were small gifts that he got for him. There was the tiny dragon plushie from the claw crane, the small little keychain he got for him when he went on that trip to Japan with his parents and brother, and even the small handwritten notes he rolled up into a small glass bottle which he gave as a gift during their second anniversary. They may have been young and it might have looked simple but to them, it was everything. They had never felt anything like it before, of course, it is the first time they’d felt anything like it. But they had been sure.

Guanheng blinked his eyes heavily, as if he didn’t even have the energy to bat an eyelash. “These were all mine,” he smiled over the mess Xiaojun had made.

Underneath everything is a closed box which had the fanciest encasing. Inside was a phone which still looked new, just all out of battery. It wasn’t completely outdated yet because it had only been bought three years ago, a few months before the accident. Xiaojun immediately charged it while he opened the rest of his things.

“Dejun,” Guanheng suddenly took his attention. “I missed you.”

He knew it wasn’t just an “I haven’t talked to you in a while” version, but an “I miss you” that said, _I know. I know you remember me. And I remember you now, too._

Xiaojun couldn’t help it. He bit his lip pathetically, trying to stop his bottom lip from shaking. “Are you gonna go?”

He shrugged. “What am I gonna go? You remember me now. I have someone to take care of me. I have no reason to stay.”

Even though he didn’t like crying, he couldn’t help it. “But I said you could stay.”

“Dejun,” he said in the gentlest voice ever. “You know how this works, you told me yourself. It’s not about wanting to stay.”

“I know, I know,” he sobbed into his hands, and he could feel Guanheng around him, wrapped around him in an attempt for comfort.

“Hey, look, the phone is charging,” he whispered, distracting him. Following the distraction, he took the phone and turned it on. They had to set it aside for a while to let the notifications come. Xiaojun tried not to point out the fact that his wallpaper was a picture of him. Eventually, they stopped and they had time to explore the phone. One notification that immediately caught his eye was a notification from him. It was a missed call.

“Guanheng,” he paused it right away when he recognized his own voice. He looked at him, and he was smiling, urging him to continue. “Babe, you know what day it is today? It’s….the day you meet my parents! I know they haven’t been able to adjust to the coming out thing yet but maybe if they see how happy I am with you they’ll change their minds, right? So don’t worry about it, and I’ll see you tonight, okay? Love you!”

“I left my phone here, I didn’t hear that,” he smiled, eyes filled with sadness.

Xiaojun opened another folder which was labeled “Dejun” with hearts on both sides. “You’re cheesy,” he pretended to dislike it but he had the widest grin on his face. There were a lot of pictures, mostly of the two of them, but many of them were audio recordings, too.

“Hello, Xiao Dejun here. Huang Guanheng’s boyfriend you’re listening to him sing in the shower right now,” the audio scratches as Xiaojun pressed the phone to the door of the shower, revealing Guanheng’s singing. “He’s such a good singer, right?”

They let the audios play for the entire night as they listened to it. He didn’t even stop listening to it until they went to bed, facing each other, talking quietly. “Be here when I wake up.”

“I will.”

 

 

 

When he woke up, he was gone.

 

 

 

 

 

It had been extremely difficult for Xiaojun to get over him. But after the proper funeral, and with someone to mourn him now, he slowly felt better and better thinking that Guanheng was now at peace, no matter where he was. He prayed for him every night and made sure he wrote everything he knew about Guanheng: someday he’s going to convince someone to continue praying for him.

It had been four years since that rainy Thursday morning when Xiaojun desperately called out to him but he was gone, and all that was left of him was his voice, still playing on the looped recordings from his old phone.

Xiaojun had taken a job, one that was related to his college major, but he still helped out with psychic shit sometimes, especially when the cases were interesting. One day, he was sitting on his desk when he got a call.

“Hello?” the voice on the other side was male, and seemed young. “I was referred by Ten, may I speak to… Xiao Dejun please?” The person on the other line was polite and obviously soft-spoken, and made the extra effort to pronounce his name right.

“Yes, how can I help?”

“Uhh… apparently, I have a dead relative that I need to look for. I didn’t know that this relative existed until recently, and when I tried to look for him, I had been informed that he had died.”

“Ten can deal with this by himself,” he commented, but not unkindly.

“Yeah, he told me you should handle this,” if Ten referred it to him, there may be something interesting along the way.

“Okay, sure, let’s talk about it tomorrow, maybe? I’m free at around 4 in the afternoon.”

“That works for me, too, thank you very much!”

“You’re welcome. But before you go, can you give me your phone number, which relative you’re looking for and your full name, please.”

“It’s 010-889-7720,” he paused as he listened to him repeat the numbers so he could write it down. “I’m looking for my brother, and my name is Hendery Wong.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> well, xiaojun's success rate is still 100% i'd say that's a win
> 
> please tell me what you think  
> i know this was cliched and predictable but my brain literally can't conjure up a good idea  
> please forgive me
> 
> thank you for taking the time to read it!  
> oh and i almost forgot  
> i made the suckiest mini trailer for this one  
> it's ugly but i did my best
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BfDhbbk7whw
> 
> this is what happens when talentless people TRY  
> but i try my best tho sometimes i succeed sometimes i don't  
> ok end of notes THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING  
> I LOVE YOU


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